


Gray

by glacis



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is lived in the gray areas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gray

(Intersection of Red and White Equals) Gray* by Glacis.  Rated NC17.  Spoilers for Red.

 

Lex had never considered himself the accommodating type.  Luthors didn't do accommodating.

Except for other Luthors, and since the only other Luthor was Lionel, Lex was ... accommodating.

It was a royal pain in the ass.

Sneering internally at a report, face as composed as always since his father might be blind but old habits of camouflage never died, he wished for the thousandth time that he was anywhere but Smallville.  Anywhere but under his father's foot.  The door opened and he tensed.  Clark's voice relaxed him, as Lex remembered the single, unexpected, enjoyable element of his otherwise untenable exile.

Friendship.

"Well, I came to shoot some pool, but it looks like this establishment is closed."

Lex bit back a grin and placed the document with the others.  "My father's presence has required certain sacrifices."

Footsteps echoed across the floor as Clark paced away from Lex.  "Why don't you throw him out?"

Ah, if only it were that easy.  "Clark, it's not like the thought hasn't occurred to me."  Often.  He turned and literally lost his breath at the unexpected picture Clark made.  Running his eyes slowly from the soles of the new, imported leather shoes over the designer slacks and coat to the artfully tousled curls, Lex said absently, "But his blindness changes the situation."

Clark prowled over to join Lex at his desk.  Lex could literally feel the air heat up around him as Clark's big body crowded him.

"Look, just because he has a problem doesn't mean he needs to ruin your life."  He sounded more confident than Lex had ever heard.

Watching Clark's every movement, never a hardship but impossible not to with Clark's odd aura of self confidence draped around him, Lex let little of his amusement show in his expression.  "I wasn't aware a two thousand dollar suit came with a backbone."

Clark grinned at him.  Flashed dimples Lex didn't see nearly often enough, and managed to look mildly dangerous doing it.  Another first.  Lex felt somewhat dizzy, and instinctively covered the momentary weakness by leaning against the desk and faking nonchalance.

"I'd like to borrow the Ferrari.  I've got a hot date tonight and I want to rock her world."

Lex couldn't help himself.  "Rock her world?"  It came out sounding more like an invitation to sin than the gentle sarcasm he'd intended.  There was something about those particular words on Clark Kent's lips that tore Lex between laughing himself silly and knocking the boy on his ass and kissing him unconscious.

Forcing himself back to reality, Lex said more harshly than he intended, "So, Lana at last."  It wasn't a question.

"Like you said, a man's got to know when to make his move."  Cocksure, and wasn't that a weird adjective to use for his insecure best friend.  Lex blinked.

"I'm glad you're finally acting on your feelings," he lied, conveniently ignoring his own recently-stated intention to emulate Clark and repress his passions.  But this was Lana, not Desiree.  Funny how he had the same urge to strangle both.  "But Lana's never struck me as the type of girl who would be impressed by a Ferrari."

Clark gave him a smile with a hard glint in his eyes Lex had never seen.  "Fast cars, a fancy home, and a ton of money," he gestured about the mansion, "never hurt you, did it?"

It took a moment for Lex to answer, and the best he could come up with was a small, controlled smile.  He hadn't expected the sharp pain the words caused, because he'd never expected Clark to judge him like the rest of the world had.  Never thought Clark would infer so blatantly that the only reason anyone would want Lex was because of what Lex owned.  He expected that sort of attitude from Jonathan, not Clark.  Clark seemed to realize he'd made a strategic error in insulting the man from whom he was asking a favor, and he gave a teasing grin.

"C'mon, Lex.  I just wanna make tonight special."

Falling into their usual teasing banter, Lex answered, "I don't know.  It's a very expensive piece of machinery," he drawled, "difficult to handle."

"It's not like I'm going to ..."  Clark widened his eyes with mock-innocence.  "Drive it off a bridge."

That pulled a real, if knife-edged, smile from Lex.

"All you have to ask yourself is ..." Clark paused, walking over to grin in Lex's face, "who's more responsible than Clark Kent?"

Apparently Luthors were accommodating to pushy Kents, too.  Since Clark had never asked for anything from him before, Lex hadn't realized that.  He shook his head, leaned over the desk, and pushed the button on the intercom.

"Enrique," he ordered, "have the Ferrari brought round.  Mr. Kent will be driving it tonight."

When he looked back at Clark, the expected grin was in place.

The heat behind it, and the way Clark was checking out his groin, wasn't.

Before Lex could unscramble his thoughts enough to find a way to ask Clark the unaskable, the heat was gone, as Clark turned on his heel with a casual, "Thanks!" tossed over his shoulder.  Off for his hot date.  With Lana.

Jealous of a petite platter-faced brunette teenager with the personality of wallpaper paste.  Pathetic.  Lex was still silently reaming himself out when Lionel tapped his way into the room and began to make more demands.  For once, Lex was actually relieved to see his father.

It kept him from dwelling on thoughts of hiding bodies.  Or worse, tying Clark to a chair and grilling him until every last question Lex had was answered.  Starting with the new attitude.

 

The next day crept by slowly.  Lex attended to business, gave orders, made plans, and did his utmost to avoid his father without making it obvious he was avoiding his father, while at the same time acquiescing to Lionel's every whim.

Guilt was a bitch.  No wonder he so seldom indulged.

He finally sought refuge in his makeshift office, perched uncomfortably on the settee, trying to ignore the bad light and refusing to pine after his convenient desk and his comfortable chair, now occupied by his father.  He'd barely begun to catch up on work when Clark blew in the door like a miniature tornado.  Lex glanced up, startled.  Clark's mouth was moving and words were flowing out in a torrent of barely-controlled energy before he'd cleared the threshold.

"Lex.  If it's all right with you, I'm gonna keep the Ferrari a little longer.  I'll send it back when I get myself set up."

He'd never seen Clark so wound up.  Nor so arrogant.  It was, not surprisingly, sexy.  It was also, quite surprisingly, somewhat alarming.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Lex threw out a hand to figuratively stop the flow of words.  "Clark, what's going on?"

Before answering him, Clark took the time to settle himself comfortably, stretching out on the chaise longue and staring up at the ceiling.  Then he announced abruptly, "I left home."

That wasn't at all what Lex expected.  Definitely alarmed now, he asked, "What happened?  Did you have a fight with your folks?"  Jonathan, he left unvoiced.  It was always Jonathan.

"My parents don't understand me," Clark snapped, his voice echoing Lex's own complaint when he'd been all of eight.  Before life kicked the ability to whine out of him and replaced it with the will to conquer.  Clark continued sullenly, "The truth is there's nothing left for me in Smallville.

Well.  Two verbal body blows in two days.  A new record, since Lex seldom allowed anyone close enough to hurt him.  Clark was making it a new avocation.  Lex swallowed, gritting his teeth to keep back the plaintive 'what about me?' that ached to escape and substituting the much less satisfying, "What about Lana?"

"She's old news," Clark informed him blithely.  "I've got a new girl.  Jessie."

He sounded like a walking cliché.  Hand him a guitar and dress him in leather.  He already had the height.  The visual his imagination supplied of Clark as Rick Springfield almost distracted Lex from the seriousness of the  situation.  Gathering his rapidly-dispersing patience and ignoring his mental rambling, Lex asked, "That's kind of sudden, isn't it?"

"Look, you're the one always telling me I gotta find my destiny."  Sullen had made way for truculent, and Lex cursed himself for finding even _that_ attractive.  Clark plowed on, oblivious as always.  "Well, one thing's for certain.  It's not here in Kansas."

"So you've just packed your stuff and you're off," Lex said with a trace of sarcasm that sailed right past the intended target.

Clark sat up and turned to face Lex.  His green eyes were dark, and bloodshot, something else Lex had never seen.  For an instant he wondered if Clark was on drugs, but the next words out of Clark's mouth wiped Lex's mind clean of any other thoughts.

"You have no idea what I'm capable of."

Suddenly intent, the hunter sensing blood, Lex said quietly, "Really."  He paused for a moment, giving Clark a chance to elucidate, then prodded delicately.  "Why don't you fill me in?"

Instead of taking the bait, Clark bounced to his feet as if he couldn't sit still a moment longer.  "Let's just say ..." his head dipped, and Lex wondered what he was looking at, then he continued, "that when I'm through showing the world what I can do, I'll have everything I ever wanted.  I may be even richer than you."

Lex knew a missed opportunity when he heard one.  Clark wasn't going to share his secrets; he was running wild, and it was time for Lex to rein him in before he did anything irretrievably stupid.  He changed tactics and allowed a calculating smirk to curve his lips.  "Maybe you're right to get away from your folks.  Maybe I should do the same."

He rose and walked over to join Clark, enjoying the view as he did.  The thought hit him that Clark should never wear anything but tailored black... or nothing at all, but he shook off the distraction and summoned a conspiratorial expression as Clark turned to look at him.

"If my father wants the mansion so much, he can have it.  I never wanted to live in Smallville anyway."  Threading the truth through a scam always made it easier to sell.  Clark bought Lex's act immediately.

"You can come with me."

Lex had to bite his tongue at the blatant invitation in Clark's words, matched perfectly by the expression on his face.  In that moment, Lex knew if he did, there would be no Jessie.  No Lana, nor Chloe, nor anyone else but Lex with Clark.

It was ridiculously tempting.

"Nobody's using the penthouse in Metropolis.  We can stay there."

But not tempting enough to risk allowing his friend to hurt himself.  Something was wrong with Clark, and Lex would do whatever he had to do to help him.  Even if it meant turning his back on the one thing he never thought he'd ever be offered.

"Clark Kent and Lex Luthor.  I _like_  the sound of that," Clark purred.

Resisting temptation had never been so hard.  Not having much practice at it made it even worse.  Lex had to look away from those heated green eyes and gather his composure for the final lie.  Then forcing himself to meet Clark's gaze with deliberate ease, Lex said, "Let me just tie up some loose ends at the office.  Make yourself at home.  I'll be right back."  And I hope, when this is over, I can salvage our friendship, he thought.

He felt Clark staring at him all the way out of the office.

Taking the first car he saw, the silver Jaguar, Lex made it to the Kent farm in record time, even for him.  As he turned off the road down the long dirt driveway he thought he saw a streak of ... something ... pass him with his peripheral vision, but when he turned his head, there was nothing.  Shaking off an uneasy feeling, he went up to the house.

"Mrs. Kent?" he called, hoping not to have to beard the lion in his den.  Martha Kent wasn't actively hostile; in fact, after Lex killed a man to save Jonathan's life, she'd been positively friendly.  Even when Lex acted like he was out of his mind after marrying Desiree, Martha had only verbally upbraided him, not shunned him like most of the town, or tried to kill him like Jonathan.  On the whole, Lex considered Martha the closest thing to an ally he had in Smallville, other than Clark.

Which could soon change, once she heard what Lex had to say about the rebellious James Dean wannabe currently camped out in his office.

Rapping on the screen, he got no answer.  Walking round to the back, calling through the door, he still came up empty-handed.  With a sigh, he gave up on her and headed for the barn.  Friendly refuge at night, with Clark; enemy territory during the day, with Jonathan.  Peering into the gloom, the air thick with hay dust that made him glad the meteor shower had taken his asthma along with his hair, Lex was disheartened to see Pete talking with Jonathan.

"...only one way to stop the unstoppable," Pete was saying.  Jonathan had a fatherly arm on the boy's shoulder.  Lex gritted his teeth again.

Double joy.  Two generations of Smallville men who'd tried to shoot him in the last few months.  The things he did for Clark amazed even himself.  Lex spared a fleeting hope that there were neither rifles nor handguns anywhere in the barn, and steeled himself to approach.  Discretion being the better part of valor, he called greeting from the farthest reach of the barn away from the two, standing where he could duck for cover if they shot first and asked questions afterward.

"Excuse me."

Twin expressions of chill hostility greeted him.  He stood his ground.  Pete looked up at Jonathan.

"Pete, why don't you get going?"

Pete did.  For an instant, Lex envied him.  Then he walked toward Jonathan, who came forward to meet him.

"Lex," Jonathan began in what he no doubt considered a polite tone, "this is really not a very good time."

Quite the one for understatement.  Lex began, "I understand you and Clark have been having some problems."

"Look, I don't want to be rude," Jonathan cut in, making lie of the statement, "but I'd prefer it if you'd stay out of my family's problems."

As if Lex would, even had he been given the opportunity.  Still, he tried to be conciliatory.  "Believe me, Mr. Kent, I'm not trying to pry.  But Clark is my friend.  I'd hate to see his relationship with you fall apart."

"I appreciate your concern."  His expression made it quite clear irritation was more apt a term by far than appreciation.  "But Clark and I can work this out."

Not likely while you're here and he's miles away, Lex thought, but only said, "Then why is Clark hiding out at the mansion."  It wasn't a question.  It was the only way Jonathan would listen to what he was saying.

And what he wasn't.

Jonathan's mouth fell open and his eyes rounded.  Then his jaw snapped shut and he looked as if he really wanted to rip Lex's head off.  Lex stood there, not challenging, not defensive, merely waiting.  Jonathan finally took a deep breath, and said, "Thanks."

The word sounded like it hurt.  Badly.  Then he turned on his heel and stomped out of the barn.  Lex watched him go, then sighed.  The confrontation had gone better than he'd expected, but then, with Jonathan, his expectations were always very low.

Walking back to the Jag, caught up in his thoughts, he rounded the side of the barn.  Heavy hands came out of nowhere and grabbed him by the arms, shoving him up against the wall.  The wood felt grainy against the skin on the back of his skull.

Clark.  The heat radiating from him was incredible.  He crowded Lex until Lex was pinned by Clark's weight from his knees to his shoulders.  This close, Lex could see how bloodshot Clark's eyes had gotten, and it worried him.  It looked like Clark hadn't slept in days.

Then Clark leaned in so close Lex could feel the soft breath falling on his cheek, and muttered fiercely, "Why?  Why turn me in?  Turn on me?"

Before he could come up with an answer, Clark scrambled Lex's brains thoroughly by rubbing against him, all over, like a cat stropping, then stilling, pressed tightly against him.  Lex managed not to moan, barely.

There wasn't a damned thing he could do about the erection.  His, or Clark's.

"We could have been fucking incredible together," Clark hissed against his cheek before pulling back to stare intently at his face.  Lex felt his mouth dry under the regard, and unconsciously licked his lips.  Impossibly, Clark's eyes got darker, and Lex got harder.

"We could have been," Clark whispered, then licked a kiss from Lex's cheekbone to the corner of his mouth, "incredible..."  He paused.  Smiled once, wickedly, at Lex, then angled his head down and took Lex's mouth like an invading army through virgin territory.   It was over too soon, and Lex fought for breath as Clark continued, "fucking," then bit Lex's lower lip, drawing a taste of blood and jolting Lex into nearly coming in his pants, "together."

Clark licked across the tiny cut, then broke away to stand, staring at Lex, for a long moment.  "Damn," he said finally, softly, then turned and stalked away toward the corn field.

Lex stood there, leaning against the barn as he had a feeling his knees wouldn't hold him, until Clark was gone.  He licked his lip again, running his tongue over the split, washing away the blood.  Washing away the taste.  Without Clark's heat, he felt oddly bereft.

The sound of Jonathan's truck rumbling by the barn brought him out of his stupor.  Stepping forward, he flagged the truck down and walked over to the driver's door.  Jonathan gave him another irritated look.

"Clark was just here," Lex informed him with no preamble.  For the second time that day, Jonathan's jaw dropped.  "He went that way."  Lex pointed to the corn.

Jonathan glanced over at Pete, next to him in the truck, then nodded.  "Thanks, Lex," he said, and for once, he sounded like he meant it.

Lex watched them drive away.  He didn't know how they were going to get Clark to talk to them, or listen to them.  But he wasn't invited along for the ride, and this time he wasn't going to follow them and find out.

He was going to go home.  Take a shower.  Wash the hay and the dust and the sweat and the erection away.  Find Lionel, and tell him some home truths.  Re-take his office.  Lock the door.

Replay that kiss in his mind and try not to wish for what he couldn't have.  Because if Clark had really wanted Lex to go away with him, Lex had thrown the chance away, to do the right thing.

Incredible, how acting like a responsible adult did nothing but complicate his life.

In a rented house on the far side of Smallville, a portly, middle-aged man in a suit forced his way past a defiant, frightened teenaged girl.  He flashed a badge in front of her face, then drew a gun and pointed it at her.  Another man's voice cried, "Jessie!"

She dropped to the floor, covering her head with her arms.

A gunshot rang out.

The man in the suit fell, dead.

A terrified man with a gun in his hand grabbed his daughter, ran to his car, and fled.

 

Sitting behind his desk once again, in his chair, arching against the lumbar support because it was there and he could, Lex absently rubbed his lower lip with his index finger and stared at his computer screen.  Lionel had actually appeared wounded when Lex had thrown his own advice back in his face.  He'd done it with no overt resentment, but a deep-seated feeling of satisfaction.  Lex simply told Lionel to grow up and stop using his physical disadvantages as an excuse to feel sorry for himself.

When Lionel told Lex the same, Lex had been nine years old.  Going by his father's reaction to the simple, direct, cold words ... Lex had taken it better.

A tentative knock at the door caused him to look up.  Clark stood at the threshold, his face unusually pale in contrast to the bright red flannel shirt he wore.  No trace of black on his body, no hint of red in his eyes, the usual uncertainty showing in his stance, to a factor of ten or so.  Lex gave him a friendly smile.

"Since when do you knock?" he teased.  Clark instantly flushed bright red, now matching his shirt.  Lex had to chuckle.  "It's okay, Clark.  Please, come in."

He rose from his chair and rounded the desk, leaning against it to watch Clark step hesitantly into the room.  From his demeanor one might assume the invitation to enter would be retracted at any moment.  Lex shook his head.

"I'm sorry," Clark blurted before Lex could offer him further reassurances.

Lex cocked his head to the side and swept Clark with a stare.  From his sneakered toes digging into the thick pile of the rug, to his fists balled in his pockets, to his downbent head, it was obvious Clark was steeling himself for the worst.  Lex wouldn't give it to him.

"For what?" he asked gently.

Clark's head came up so suddenly it was a wonder he didn't get whiplash.  He stared at Lex, face paling, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing, not making a sound.

After a moment, Lex added, "You told the truth.  Didn't you?"

As memory took Clark, the flush returned, streaks of red highlighting his cheekbones, bringing out the green of his eyes.  Lex couldn't look away had his life depended on it.  Doubt, agreement, denial and pain were painted in Clark's intent gaze.

"Not all of it," he finally answered, very quietly.

Of course not.  Lex felt the corner of his mouth turn up and asked, "Which part was the truth, and which was the lie, Clark?  Life isn't written in black and white.  It's lived in the gray areas.  What is your truth, the truth you can share with me?"  He refused to come any closer to begging than he already had.  Clark had to make his own decision, and Lex would live with the consequences.

As would Clark.  Lex would see to that.

They stood there for long moments, Clark with his hands now gripping the edge of the desk, Lex with his arms folded across his chest, staring at one another.  When Clark's hand rose and gently touched the slight swelling in Lex's lower lip, he seemed more surprised by his movement than Lex was.  But he left his fingertip where it was as he said, "I didn't lie to you.  Then."

The last word was forced through a clenched jaw.  Lex dropped his gaze from Clark's eyes to his lips, then looked back up to stare into his eyes again.  He always knew when Clark lied to him; it happened often enough, and Clark always telegraphed it with his eyes.  Right then, Lex knew Clark was telling the truth.  He wondered how far that truth would extend under pressure.

"Are you lying to me now?" he asked.

Clark leaned toward him instinctively to hear the soft-spoken words, and the continuation of motion from lean to kiss was equally as easy.  Clark's lips replaced his fingertip. 

"I didn't think you were," Lex murmured into Clark's mouth.  He could feel Clark's quick grin against his skin, then the warmth began to fade as Clark tried to draw away.

Lex wouldn't let him.  Clark stared at him for a moment, the blush fading as the heat in his eyes intensified.  He licked his lips, and Lex moved forward the requisite inch to bring them back into contact.  Clark sighed, then closed his eyes and touched his mouth to Lex's once more.

Lex closed his eyes as well and opened his mouth at the soft pressure.  When Clark was slow to take the invitation, Lex waited, the tip of his tongue barely grazing Clark's top lip.  When he eventually withdrew, Clark followed, gently sucking on Lex's lower lip, the wet touch easing the residual sting from the previous day's bite.

As if the kiss broke some barrier holding him back, Clark gave a muffled whimper against Lex's mouth and turned to press himself fully against Lex's body.  Lex brought his arms up to loop them loosely around Clark's waist.  If Clark wanted to step away, at any time, he could.  Lex wouldn't force this.

He didn't have to.

Need overcoming lack of confidence, Clark no longer hesitated.  Kisses melted from soft to hungry, as their bodies grew greedy.  Clark pulled them away from the desk, and Lex allowed himself to be led, as his hands roamed from Clark's waist up his back along his shoulders to bury themselves in his hair.  Clark gave a stifled groan of approval, then slowly sank down to his knees on the rug, taking Lex with him.

Not that he protested.  Quite the contrary.

Buttons were easy, cotton less so, jeans a bit of a challenge, but Lex was determined and Clark was more than willing.  The sound of silk tearing startled Lex, but not enough to stop him, as his own shirt was gently stripped from him, then big hands fumbled at his belt.  The pressure against his hard cock nearly made him come, and he froze, trying to will himself away from orgasm.

Clark misunderstood his sudden stillness as withdrawal, and tried to back away, apologizing incoherently.  Lex left one hand tangled in Clark's hair so he couldn't escape, and used his other to deftly undo his trousers, sparing his cock from further stimulation until he had himself back under control.

That lasted until Clark realized what he was doing, then Lex abruptly found all control wrenched from him as the world tilted.  He ended up on his back with no idea how he got there other than a vague impression of displaced air and a faint sensation of vertigo.  Lex opened his mouth to ask how the hell _that_ happened when Clark yanked his briefs down to his knees and sucked on the head of his cock.

His world didn't rock.  It exploded.

Instead of words, inarticulate cries came from Lex, pitch rising as Clark lowered his head.  The touch of his tongue and the heat of his mouth were unskilled, clumsy and eager, impossible to resist, and Lex didn't bother.  Obviously responsibility, maturity and nobility were vastly over-rated.  Succumbing to temptation, in the all-too-ready Clark, was the only way to go.

And he went, right over the edge, hands clenching so hard in Clark's hair it was a wonder he didn't tear it out, as Clark wrapped one hand around Lex's cock and sucked so hard Lex nearly blacked out.  He was too busy moaning to complain.

When his brain finally reassembled to the point where he was once again cognizant of his surroundings, he stared dazedly down at Clark, diligently licking the splatter off Lex's stomach.  His cock twitched.  It was the single most erotic thing he'd ever seen, which in context was bizarre, given his varied and experimental sex life prior to exile to Smallville.

Eyes lazily scanning the seeming miles of sweating skin and bunched muscle of Clark's chest, abdomen and thighs, he realized belatedly that Clark was jacking himself so hard he was bound to come in moments.  Automatically, he reached down and caught Clark's wrist.

The motion didn't stop, but Clark did lift his head up and look at Lex.  He was beautiful.  Eyes wide and glassy, mouth open, lips reddened, matching the hectic flush spreading from his cheeks down to his chest, hair sticking to his skin in curls along his hairline.  Lex had to swallow, twice, before he could speak.

"Don't waste it," he growled.

Clark shivered.  Everywhere.  Lex groaned, then slithered down Clark's body until he could replace Clark's hand with his own mouth.  It took a second for his intent to penetrate the haze of lust clouding Clark's mind, but as soon as he realized what Lex wanted, he let go and arched up.

Perfect aim.  Lex opened his mouth and curled over until he could swallow the length of Clark's cock, his hands moving to rub Clark's thighs, then around to knead his buttocks.  Clark made a wounded noise, his hands cupping Lex's skull with exceptional gentleness considering the circumstances, and Lex barely had time to take a quick breath before Clark was coming down his throat.

Blessing his sexual profligacy, Lex drew on his considerable experience and took everything Clark could give him.  His jaw was aching and the vertigo was back, this time from oxygen deprivation, by the time Clark finally collapsed.  Lex eased the still half-hard cock from his throat and gasped for breath, licking his lips.

He couldn't get the grin off his face to save his life.  Judging by the beaming grin on Clark's face, he felt the same way.

Not one to waste an afterglow, Lex slid back up Clark's body and kissed him again, taking his time, enjoying himself.  Eventually he had to breathe, so he broke the kiss and stared down at Clark, writhing lazily beneath him.  Hard again.  Blushing again.  To his surprise, Clark wouldn't meet his eyes; instead, he stared hard over Lex's shoulder for a moment, then looked sheepish.  Lex opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but before he could get the words out, Clark rolled over on top of him and began kissing him all over his face.

When Clark started to suck on the side of Lex's throat, Lex completely forgot the question.  Much later, staring at the logs burning in the stone fireplace when he should have been working, he wondered when the servants had come in and lit it.  He didn't make the connection until years later.

At the moment, pinned beneath Clark's weight, Clark's erection digging into his thigh, his own hard cock riding against Clark's stomach, Lex gave up the fight to think.  Instead, he concentrated on the restless search of Clark's hands on his skin, the hungry biting kisses, and the rhythmic pressure of Clark moving against him.  He came a second time, not bothering to muffle his scream.

Clark's name still echoed in the air when Clark stiffened and came as well.  He hissed, "Lex!  God," then curled up around Lex, holding him tightly.  Lex nuzzled the side of Clark's face and held him in turn, licking a bead of sweat as it trailed down Clark's temple, dropping feathery kisses around Clark's ear and down the line of his jaw.  He felt more relaxed, and safer, than he'd ever felt in his life.  His breathing had just evened out when Clark spoke.

"I wish I could tell you everything, Lex," Clark said somberly.

Lex felt himself tense, and cursed the swift return to reality.  "I wish you would, too," he admitted.

"One day I will."  It sounded like a vow.

Lex smiled up at him.  Kissed him.

Didn't believe a word he said.

On Monday, the only one who noticed the new girl didn't come back was Lana Lang.  She didn't particularly care.  She was too preoccupied wondering why Clark didn't respond to, or even appear to notice, her righteous anger at their failed date.  She asked Chloe, who gave her a blank look, shrugged, and walked away.

As for Clark, he couldn't stop grinning, or blushing, all day.

**END**

*Venn diagram : a graph that employs closed curves and especially circles to represent logical relations between and operations on sets and the terms of propositions by the inclusion, exclusion, or intersection of the circles.

 


End file.
